Hero
by gsobsess
Summary: Another from the archives: Matt Dillon was admired by many- there were some that took that admiration too far.
1. Chapter 1

_Part One: The Giant Slayer_

He knew he couldn't withstand much more. The mix of blood and sweat stung his eyes as it trickled down his forehead, and his sides ached with such intensity that he thought the next breath he took would surely be his undoing. He heard their laughter; it seemed to come from all around him as he lay in the dirt.

"Don't seem like he's gonna get up this time!" A lanky young man chortled. As he reared his foot back for another kick he grunted "Best I make sure of that!"

"Hold it right there!" The powerful voice stopped the attacker in mid kick. Three pairs of eyes turned toward the big man sitting astride the buckskin. "Put your hands where I can see them, and step away from the boy."

The three men did as they were told, reluctantly giving up their violent game. "We was just teaching him a lesson was all," the shortest of the three whined. "Ain't no reason to pull a gun on us!"

"Uhh-hunh. Three against one, seems a little unfair to me," Dillon stated as he dismounted his horse.

"Well, he shouldn't have been looking at my sister. 'Sides, what business is it of yours?" retorted the lanky man.

"I'm making' it my business." Matt knelt down beside the boy, gently rolling him onto his back, causing the tormenters to step back from the youth. "You all right?"

"I'm hurtin' terrible mister. I didn't do anything, I swear. They just jumped me."

"If you can ride, we'll head back toward Hays. You can press charges there." Matt continued with his inspection of the young boy. He appeared to have taken a good beating, but nothing seemed broken upon further scrutiny.

"I ain't pressin' charges, they'd just come after me even worse. I just want to be shed of them," the boy ground out between clenched teeth.

"Not sure your making the right choice, but I can't stop you." Pulling a bandana out of his pocket, he began to wipe the blood off of the boy's swollen forehead. "Get outta here, you three. And if I ever see you around this boy again, you'll have me to deal with!"

The attackers mounted their horses, and rode off, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. Matt looked around and saw another horse, old and swaybacked, about 25 yards down the road. "That your mount down there?" he asked as he raised the young boy into a sitting position.

"Yeah, she ain't much, but she's all I got."

"Think you can ride?" Dillon asked, attempting to help the boy stand.

"Iffin' it'll get me outta here and away from them crazies, I'll ride!"

The marshal walked the horse toward the boy and helped him into the saddle. "So where you heading?" Matt asked as he tipped his hat back on his head.

"No place in particular, just heading," the boy replied despondently.

"Well, you probably ought to have someone look at those bruises and cuts. Why don't you ride into Dodge with me, I'll have Doc Adams look you over?"

The boy looked up into the big man's face. "Say, I didn't thank ya names Jeremiah Tyrone Branham and I thank you for your help sir." Trying to sit up straight he thrust his much smaller hand toward the big man.

A small grin crept across Matt's face. "Glad to help. Name's Dillon, Matt Dillon."

"Saw you was a lawman, by your badge. You a sheriff?"

"Nope, US Marshal outta Dodge. Speakin' of Dodge, we better get riding, it'll be dark soon." As the pair began the trek to Dodge, Matt found himself wondering how this young man found himself out on the prairie by himself, and in such a heap of trouble. From the looks of his skin and the light fuzz on his jaw, Matt guessed the boy not to be much past 19. He was of slight build, though obviously muscular, someone accustomed to hard work. Matt had noted earlier the boy didn't wear a gun, and his clothing reminded him of a homesteader or farmer. Jeremiah had an ingratiating grin, even though it was slightly lopsided thanks to a swollen bottom lip.

Lagging slightly behind, Jeremiah looked at the imposing figure before him. He noted the lawman rode slightly back in the saddle apparently to compensate for his long legs. Jeremiah knew little about him, but he knew he showed him kindness, something the boy hadn't experienced in a very long time. He could tell by the way the Marshal had studied him; he was trying to get a read on him. Jeremiah decided he would only reveal what he had to, hoping to avoid exposing too much of his past.

Early the next morning, the unlikely pair rode into Dodge. The previous night found Matt answering Jeremiah's seemingly unending questions about Dodge and life as a lawman. The swollen lip the young man had received in the altercation had caused him to lisp some, but did not deter his enthusiasm; however, a long night on the hard packed prairie dirt had seemed to douse the boy's exuberance and the morning ride had been relatively quiet.

"Say J.T", Matt said, addressing the boy as requested, "why don't you head on up to Doc's office, and I'll meet you there shortly."

"Marshal, I can't be beholdin' to no sawbones, ain't got a dime to pay him."

Matt grinned. "According to Doc, nobody does. Go on, let me worry about Doc."

A steely looked crossed the young man's features, and he raised himself in the saddle as far as his sore ribs would allow. "I ain't any charity case, Marshal."

Matt noted the way the boy held himself, and he smiled inwardly. He saw a great deal of himself in this independent young man; the brashness, the pride, the need to be taken seriously. "No one said you were. We'll figure out a way for you to work it off. Now go on."

After stabling Buck and checking in at the office, Matt made his way up the rickety stairs that led to Adams' office. He paused outside of the door, drawn to the animated conversation being held inside.

"I'm telling ya Doc, he held off all three of them no goods, just with the look in his eye!"

"The look in his eye, hunh? Did he happen to have his gun in his hand?"

"Sure he did, but I could tell, they wouldn't done nothin' even if the Marshal would a been holding a puppy! Soon as them boys got a look at his badge and his size," a giggle erupted from J.T. "they was high-tailin' it like a rabbit caught in a rain storm!"

Matt chose this time to enter through the door. He wasn't one for accolades, and he hoped his presence would put a stop to this particular recollection.

Doc Adams looked up as the door opened, and shoving his hands in his pockets, he snorted, "Well, look there, it's David the giant slayer himself!"

A bewildered J.T. looked from one man to the other and said "David? I thought you said your name was Matt, Marshal Dillon."

Doc nearly choked on his laughter, and Matt shot him a menacing look. "Well, it is, J.T. That was just Doc trying to be funny. He does that every now and then, usually doesn't work out too well for him."

Walking up to the exam table, Matt addressed the doctor. "So," he asked, tilting his head toward the boy, "he gonna be okay?"

"Him? Oh yes, he's gonna be just fine. I'd have to say he was pulled from the clutches of death just in time!" The smirk on the old man's face was not lost on Matt, who shook his head in resignation.

"Fine then. Come on J.T., I think it's time you met a higher class of Dodge folk." Matt laid his hand on the young man's arm and guided him toward the door. Calling over his shoulder to Doc, Matt extended an invitation to join them for supper later that night.

He couldn't stop staring. It wasn't that he'd forgotten his manners; he was pure and simply mesmerized. From the moment the Marshal had introduced him to the redhead, he had found himself lost in her bright expressive smile and brilliant blue eyes. Add all that to her easy manner with him; the boy knew he was a goner.

"Umm, J.T., did you hear me?" Kitty asked, leaning in toward the young man.

Embarrassed, the boy cleared his throat before responding. "Ah, no ma'am, I didn't. Guess I'm a bit more tired than I thought."

Kitty patted his arm, her touch causing a tingle to course through him. "You poor thing! Has Matt found you a place to stay yet?"

J.T. was drawn to the slight pout that formed on Kitty's lips, wondering what it might be like to kiss them. The look was not lost on Matt, nor was the boy's smitten demeanor.

"No, not yet Kitty, but I think we'll head out right now and see what we can do about it," Matt responded tersely.

Kitty looked up at Matt and offered, "He can stay in one of the rooms here if you can't find anything."

Matt nearly interrupted Kitty in his urgency to quell that idea. "No! I mean no, that shouldn't be necessary. I imagine Hank'll put him up, in turn for some work." Turning to J.T. he commanded, "Let's go." When he was sure J.T. was heading out the batwing doors, Matt turned to Kitty and said, " _I'll_ see ya later Kitty."

Kitty had to smile, the emphasis on " _I'll"_ gave an indication that her cowboy was a little jealous. Clearing the beer mugs from the table, she thought a little jealousy wouldn't hurt him any.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two: Me and My Shadow

Hank nodded his head approvingly at the work the boy had done on the stable doors. As he headed back in to the livery he thought about the young man he had hired several days before. He found J.T. to be a hardworking, honest young man. Outside of his ingratiating personality, his best attributes were a knack with the animals and the ability to learn any task asked of him. Hank had found the company a pleasant benefit as well, though he mused, the conversations centered mostly on one subject: Matt Dillon.

Hank had been around enough to know that the incessant questions the boy asked about the Marshal were not for sinister reasons. It seemed to the stable master that the young boy had himself a bad case of hero worship. Hank had heard the rendition of the rescue so many times he could recite it himself, and if that wasn't the topic of the hour, then the boy was asking to be regaled with stories of the Marshal's "town tamin'" as the boy had deemed it. In deference to the Marshal, Hank had only shared a few of the stories with the lad, trying to downplay the drama, much like the lawman himself would do.

When J.T. wasn't working at the stables and devouring information from the old man, he was glued to Matt Dillon's side. Matt had at first found the intrusion aggravating, not one used to sharing his air so close to another. The young man wanted to know everything about the Marshal, but outside of facts about certain lawbreakers and altercations, Matt was uncomfortable sharing with the boy. The youth's exuberance, however, was a nice distraction from the day to day boredom that had beset the Marshal of late. J.T. sprang up expectantly every time the door of the office was opened, only to be disappointed when it produced only visitors or mundane requests of the Marshal. Matt, though growing restless himself, was grateful for the respite. He had repeatedly warned J.T. that if trouble did rear its head, he was to stay back and out of the way. He was troubled that the boy had decided to purchase an old used single shot Peacemaker, but spent a few hours making sure J.T. knew how to handle it safely.

The unusual calm also gave Dillon time to visit with his favorite redhead on a more regular basis. Matt grimaced as he thought of the way J.T. also managed to follow him into the Long Branch every chance he had. The kid was smitten with Kitty, there was no denying it. Of course Dillon couldn't blame him; hell, it seemed most men that stepped foot into the saloon ended up taken in by her charms. His grimace turned to a smile as he reflected on the fact that though many were taken by her, he was the only one she accepted in return. J.T. had asked a lot of questions about Kitty at first, but either by intuition or warning by a well-meaning citizen, he seemed to understand that the lady was off limits to him, both during conversations with Matt and physically. It didn't stop him from staring at her with his puppy dog eyes, and it didn't stop Kitty from mothering him. She invited him to lunch on more than one occasion, and had purchased him some grooming supplies from the mercantile "just until he got on his feet." Matt hated to admit that he had been jealous of the attention Kitty paid to the young buck at first, but after one very heated night of reassurance, Matt worried no more.

Calm, like silence, could be shattered in an instant.

It was a lazy Saturday night in Dodge, a few gamblers, some drifters, but the trail herds were a memory for the season, and the crowds for the most part were subdued. Matt was enjoying an animated tale being spun by Kitty about the drummer who had darkened her door earlier in the week. Doc Adams, and of course, J.T. were also enthralled by rich alto voice of the saloon keeper, hanging on every word, anxiously awaiting the description of the tongue lashing they knew she had given the salesman, when the batwing doors burst open,thrusting in toward the saloon with force.

"Dillon! Marshal Dillon! Come quick, there's gonna be a gunfight!" The cowboy burst back through the doors as quickly as he had entered.

Dillon sprang to his feet, his hand instinctively going to his Colt, as if in reassurance it was there. J.T also rose from his chair, pushing his so hard it toppled to the floor. Dillon looked at the young man, making sure he held his gaze for a moment and then stated, "I told you to stay back and out of trouble."

"But Marshal, I wanna..." began J.T.

"Make sure he stays put." With those parting words, Dillon pulled his Stetson low over his eyes and made his way across the saloon and out the doors in a few long strides.

"But I could help! I wouldn't be in the way!" a determined J.T. pleaded.

Kitty looked at the young man and saw the hurt in his eyes. "He doesn't want to put anyone else in harm's way, J.T., that's all." Kitty Russell looked out over the saloon doors out into the dark night. Silently she prayed, "Don't put yourself in harm's way either, Cowboy."

It didn't take Matt long to figure out where the trouble lay. Just down the street from the Long Branch, the boardwalk was lined with men and a few women. In the middle of the street, the gaslights illuminated two men facing off. One man Matt immediately recognized by his short stature and worn slouch hat. It was Bolton Ferguson, a mean, ornery cowpoke, known to solve his disputes with his six shooter. If the Marshal had his way, the man would have been run out of Dodge a long time ago, but he always managed to claim and prove self-defense. If baiting people were a crime, Ferguson would have hung years ago.

The other man in the standoff was a stranger, likely a gambler by the cut of his clothes. Matt observed all of this in seconds, while positioning himself slightly to the left of the men. His voice boomed out in the night, as he raised his trusted Colt. "Hold it! There won't be any shooting tonight."

Ferguson didn't move his head, but tracked the marshal's position with his eyes. "Stay out of this Dillon; we got us a fair fight here, this boy called me out!"

Matt shot his eyes briefly to the gambler, and noted that his hand had risen slightly, and even in the dim light from the lamps, Matt could make out the sweat beading on the young man's forehead. Instinct told Matt this gambler did not want a fight.

"Mister, that true?" Matt questioned.

The nervous man turned his head toward the Marshal, and in a quivering voice said, "I was mad, Marshal. He accused me of cheatin'; a man's gotta protect his reputation. But….I can't, uhh, I don't really want to..."

The staccato voice of Ferguson broke in, "Don't go backin' down now cheater! Dillon, I'm tellin' ya, stay out of this!"

"I'm in it Ferguson." Walking toward the young gambler, Matt placed his body between the two men. "Mister, stay behind me and start walking toward the jail."

An angered Ferguson yelled, "You ain't only a cheat, you is a coward! Dillon, you ain't got no call protecting that boy like a mama hen! Get outta the way, I'm gonna teach that yellowbellied cheat a lesson!" The spittle that flew from Ferguson's mouth caught the light, making him look like a rabid dog.

"Ferguson, you say one more word and I'm takin' you out. Now get outta town, and I better not see you around, or you'll end up as my guest in jail." Matt leveled his steel blue gaze directly in the eyes of the irate man.

Just as Ferguson was ready to accept defeat in his quest for blood, fate gave him an unexpected opportunity.

A voice Matt recognized at J.T.'s emanated from the shadows **.** "Marshal, watch out, there's one behind you!" Dillon swung to his right, crouching down and aiming his gun into the gloom behind him. Simultaneously three things registered in his brain; the only person behind him was the gambler, apparently caught up in the drama of the scene unfolding before him; the pain that ripped through his knee as he hunkered low to the ground; and the sound of a bullet splitting the air near his left ear.

Matt whirled back toward Ferguson, who stood with a sneer on his face, smoke still pouring out from the barrel of his gun. Matt saw the movement of the man's index finger preparing to squeeze off another shot. Dillon fired his own gun before the digit could contract and Ferguson went down with a thud on the dirt street.

The big lawman limped over to where the shooter lay, tapping the prone body with a toe of his worn leather boot. Dead. Matt holstered his gun and turned in time to see J.T. holding his gun on the young gambler, who had his arms outstretched toward the sky.

"Put that gun away!" Matt commanded. "I thought I told you to stay put." His steely eyes narrowed toward an obviously confused J.T.

"But I saved your life, Marshal! This one was gonna ambush you from behind!" Still holding the gun in his hand, J.T. gestured wildly, the barrel of the weapon dangerously swaying with each word.

"Holster that gun, J.T., now." The anger in Dillon's voice was not lost on the young man. Sheepishly he obeyed, and the gambler let out a slow, long breath. Matt inclined his head toward the scared man, but never took his eyes off J.T. "Go on, Mister, you can leave. You might want to rethink your occupation, though."

Nearly running from the two men, the gambler stuttered, "Yes Marshal, I just may do that!"

Matt continued to glare at J.T., much like a disappointed father would at a wayward child. "What were you thinking, son? You coulda been killed running up like that."

J.T.'s faced showed chagrin, and he couldn't bring himself to meet the Marshal's gaze. "I just was afraid…I thought…well, I wanted to help!"

"I didn't ask for your help and I don't need your help." Matt's anger was infused with worry for what could have happened to the green, young boy.

"Matt…Marshal, I just wanted to help, you know, like you helped me. I want to be like you…"

"J.T., you aren't me. You can't be me. It isn't…well, you just can't." What Matt couldn't voice was his fear that the young man would turn out to be like him. He was bold and brash enough, and he was an honest kid. But Dillon wouldn't wish the life of a lawman on anyone. The constant threats against one's life and safety, the difficulties it presented to having a normal life, the very real chance of an early grave.

A cloud passed over the young man's face as he hung his head even lower. A moment of agonizing silence pressed in on the men, and finally J.T. looked up. "I'm sorry I messed up, but you're wrong, I can be whatever I want, no matter how many times somebody tries to slap me down." The look of chagrin had turned to one of disdain, and the boy, even with his smaller stature, managed to look Dillon in the eye. "You're wrong, dead wrong, Dad…, uhm Marshal."

Matt knew he had hurt the boy deeply, and regretted it to a point. But if his hurt would steer him in another direction, away from the law, then it was a pain worth inflicting. "Look Jeremiah, you're a fine kid. I appreciate that you thought you were helping, but I'm the law here. I'm paid to risk my life, you aren't, and I don't want to see you doing it again."

Almost as if he hadn't heard the words spoken to him, J.T. shook his head slowly and said, "I can be like you, I can be whatever I want to be, you'll see." As he slowly walked down the street, still mumbling, Matt sauntered over to Doc and the crowd that began to see to Bolton Ferguson's last needs.

Tossing and turning, the images continued to haunt J.T.'s sleep. He mumbled his distress and disdain in response to the visual assault that was his dream. Flashes of his father, hand raised, mouth turned upward into a vile sneer hovered before his closed eyes. In his dream he could feel the pain from the whippings, sometimes with a hand, most often with whatever object was within hands reach. But that pain was superficial compared to the pain of the words his dad assaulted him with daily. "You ain't nutthin'. Never gonna amount to nutthin. Never gonna be worth nutthin. Nutthin nor nobody's ever gonna want you. You ain't ever been able to do nutthin and I wouldn't be down nutthin if you were gone." Nothing. Every day of his young life he had been reminded that he was nothing. J.T. awoke sweat soaked and with a tear stained face. It's not true, he mentally screamed. Marshal Dillon didn't think he was nothing when he saved him and helped him settle in Dodge. A man like Matt Dillon wasn't ever called "nothing," and that was the kind of man Jeremiah Tyrone Branham was going to make himself in to.

A few blocks away, a more pleasant tossing and turning and mumbling had just taken place. Matt Dillon held Kitty Russell as she lay bare and sweaty, sprawled across the massive chest of the lawman. His eyes closed in satisfaction; he had one arm propped behind his head as his other lovingly stroked the damp porcelain skin of Kitty's back. A smile crossed his face when he heard her mumbled voice proclaim she'd better get off of him if he was ever going to get his breath back. Allowing her to roll off of him, but not stray too far, he pulled her against his side and resumed his tender touches, this time to her shoulder. After a few moments of sweet silence, Matt turned toward Kitty and with a sheepish grin said "Guess you wish you hadn't of given my knee that rubdown now hunh?"

A warm guttural chuckle rose from her throat as she teased, "Matt, I could have simply shaken your hand and we still would have ended up here!"

"Aww, come on now, I'm not some young colt who can't control his urges!" A smile tugged at the ruggedly handsome face.

"You're right cowboy, you aren't young!" Kitty giggled as she tried to turn playfully away. Matt grasped her waist and effortlessly hoisted her back toward him.

"Now what's that supposed to mean?" he asked as he began an assault of soft kisses along her neckline and up toward her jaw.

Kitty laughed and raised an eyebrow. "Like I always say, the wilder the colt the better the horse!"

"Oh is that so? Is that why you were so taken with young J.T.?" Matt mockingly teased.

"Matt, come on now, I thought I did a pretty good job in reassuring you that you are the only 'horse' in my stable." Kitty purred as she ran her hands over his muscled chest.

Matt kissed her warm lips slowly and lazily. "Never doubted it for a minute." Pulling her close against his side and entwining his long legs around her soft shapely ones, he continued. "Still can't believe what that boy did tonight. He coulda gotten killed."

"I tried to stop him, Matt, but he was hell bent on finding out what was going on." Kitty grew silent and looked into the face of her lover. "You really don't see it, do you?" she softly queried.

"See what?" Matt replied while twirling a lock of silken red hair around his index finger.

Kitty sat up, leaning over Matt with her arms straddling his chest. "That boy idolizes you Matt Dillon. He stands a foot taller any time he is with you. He really was trying to help you."

A sigh escaped Dillon's tight mouth. "I know he was trying to help, but it was a foolish thing to do. And I don't know why he'd look up to me. There are a lot more deserving men then me."

His words melted the heart of the redhead. She knew he truly didn't understand what others saw in him, her mighty Marshal. She decided to take this opportunity to remind him of his many winning characteristics. "You are brave." She planted a kiss on his heart. "You are honorable." She graced his forehead with a buss. "You are kind." A longer kiss to his lips. "A gentleman." She kissed his hand. "And you are the most handsome man in Dodge!" She met his lips for a passionate kiss.

As the lovers broke apart, both breathless, Matt ground out, "Just Dodge?"

A giggle escaped the red head's lips as she placed herself firmly along the extensive torso of her man. As she lowered her face towards his, she whispered, "Oh, and modest too." Before he could retort, she captured his awaiting mouth in kiss that effectively ended any further discussion.

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The quiet spell in Dodge continued, save for a few drunken brawls and a report of a stolen horse. In typical male fashion, Matt and J.T. hadn't discussed the events surrounding the showdown several nights ago. Matt had mentally noted though, the boy seemed to have understood the warning he had issued. Still following the Marshal's activities closely, the young man had stayed cautiously out of harm's way. Matt also noted that their visits to the Long Branch had changed as well. Instead of planting himself firmly at Matt's and Kitty's table, when the boy entered the saloon he sought out and kept company with Lila, one of Kitty's girls. Lila was a sweet young girl, who had found herself in Dodge trying to escape an abusive family. Always one to take in lost souls, Kitty had offered her a job at the saloon. As with all the girls, it was made clear that the only thing she was required to peddle was drinks. Lila soon blossomed, becoming one of Kitty's most popular attractions. Though feeling confident and safe, Lila had made it known to Kitty that she longed for a normal life outside of the barroom. Kitty could barely contain her excitement when she discussed the blossoming relationship between the two youngsters with Matt. He wisely responded with a smile and nod, but honestly would never understand the need for women to talk about romance.

The following Saturday brought yet another ripple of excitement to Dodge, but this one didn't involve outlaws or shoot outs. Matt, Doc, Kitty and Festus were sharing a table and conversation over cold beer when the doors of the saloon swung open. The tinny notes of the piano, as well as all conversation, immediately stopped when a figure emerged though the doors. The four friends at the table dropped their jaws simultaneously when they realized who they were looking at. Before them, scanning the bar room, stood J.T. This sight would not have normally elicited such a reaction, but tonight he was dressed in tan pants with a brown leather vest over a bugger red shirt. He had a gun belt slung around his pelvis, in which was encased an exact duplicate of the gun Matt Dillon carried. The mirror image was topped off with a large tan Stetson, pulled slightly down over J.T.'s eyes.

Doc was the first to break the silence. He looked over at Dillon, and smothered a grin as he swiped at his upper lip. "Well, by thunder, if he were a foot taller, I'd I thought he was you!"

The four watched as J.T. sauntered in the bar, his walk an attempt to mimic the long strides of Dillon. Upon seeing Lila, the boy sidled up to the bar beside her.

"Oh Matt, what are you going to do?" Kitty questioned, barely able to hide her obvious amusement.

"What am I gonna do? I'm not going to do anything!" Matt spoke, unable to take his eyes off of the youngster.

"Matthew, that thar young'en looks like he jest jumped in a pile of yer laundry!" Festus goaded.

"A man can wear anything he wants, that's not against the law," a tight lipped Matt retorted.

Doc, obviously enjoying this unexpected turn of events continued the ribbing **.** "You just better be careful Matt, real careful. He cuts a fine figure in those clothes. Now if he can laze around in a chair in front of the jail, well, your job just may be in jeopardy!"

Kitty playfully swatted Doc's arm. "Now Doc, don't tease! I knew J.T. looked up to Matt, but I never..." Her words were cut short as J.T. approached the table.

Placing a finger to the rim of the Stetson, J.T. greeted the table's occupants. "Miss Kitty, Marshal, Doc, Festus. "

"Thems some duds you is a wearin' there J.T.," Festus offered, the statement being met by a glare from the bright blue eyes of the Marshal.

"Um, yeah, I know what it must seem like. Marshal, I hope you don't mind, I just always admired your vest and hat, and well, I guess the rest just sorta followed." A slight blush colored J.T.'s cheeks.

Clearing his throat and pushing his own Stetson back, Matt raised his eyebrows and said, "No, no, you, uhh, you look fine, just fine."

An awkward moment passed as the four stared at J.T., still surprised at the outfit the boy sported. Excusing himself, J.T. sauntered back toward the bar.

Kitty, Doc and Festus looked at each other with wide open eyes. The giggle started with Kitty and then contagiously spread among the table. Matt **,** however, was not laughing.

Doc almost had himself composed until he tried to mimic Matt. "Fine, you look just fine..." he said as he broke into a full laugh.

Kitty had finally tamed her case of the giggles and patted Matt's arm. "Don't worry Matt, it won't last long. Consider it a compliment."

Matt used his long muscular legs to scoot the chair back from the table. The grimace on his face was a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "Yeah. I'll see you later." And with a much more natural version of the stride J.T. had tried to mimic, Matt Dillon propelled himself out of the Long Branch.

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He had almost grown immune to the double takes and giggles as they walked down the boardwalk together. Dillon had accepted the fact that J.T. wasn't going to change his style of dress anytime soon. Even Doc and Festus had let up on the barbs and comments, and had grown accustomed to the sight of the two men dressed in identical clothing sauntering down the street.

The young man continued to make himself as much a part of the marshal's life as possible, spending his free time with him and accompanying him on rounds when he was able and permitted to. Matt had spelled out his boundaries in no uncertain terms. When there was trouble, he was to stay out of it, a safe distance away or better yet behind the safety of a closed door. Though J.T. didn't fully understand the marshal's concern, he obeyed him mostly due to the immense regard he had for the big lawman.

Lila had become an important part of the young man's life as well. It was almost comical how the two would enter the Long Branch, the tall marshal leading the way. As was Matt's custom, he would stop and peer over the batwing doors, assuring a safe entrance and reassuring himself of the beautiful redhead's whereabouts. When both tasks were accomplished he would push his massive frame through the doors and make a beeline toward the object of his search. Before the doors could swing back toward the street, the younger man would follow, holding the doors slightly ajar, as it was difficult for him to see over the obstacle, and in much the same fashion, peruse his environment and seek out the green eyes of Lila, ultimately finding his way by her side.

Kitty found the boy's infatuation with both the marshal and the young saloon hostess endearing. In quiet times of reflection, she would muse that **J**.T. could have represented the son Matt Dillon had never had with her.

Matt found the intrusion tolerable, in large part because he truly found the young man to be a likeable kid. Jeremiah had proven to be smart, hardworking, and trustworthy, the incident with the shootout to be the only exception. For the moment, life in Dodge was easy and uncomplicated.

Matt entered his office, a gusty wind allowing dust and debris to swirl their way in with him. Festus and J.T. were seated at the pockmarked center table, playing what appeared to be a closely contested game of checkers. Neither looked up or acknowledged the marshal's presence until the big man headed toward the coffee pot.

"Taint no use in shakin' er, Matthew," Festus spoke without looking away from the game. "I drank the las' smidgen of it right afore this yahoo decided he'd go to try and win me in checkers."

J.T. smirked, but did not allow his gaze to falter from the board. "Yahoo, hunh? Well if you look close, I think you'll see this yahoo is beating you!"

Matt stood beside his desk, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt, and tried not to show his aggravation. "Is that so? Well do you think you might find time to make some more sometime today?"

The words worked to break the hill man's concentration, and he looked up at the marshal. "Oh Golly, Matthew, I'm plumb sorry! I got me all caught uppin this here game…"

The sincere apology evident in Festus' eyes caused a small smile to break the grimace on Matt's face, and he waved his massive hand in the air. "Not to worry Festus, I'll start us another pot."

J.T. rose from his chair and headed toward Matt. "Aww Marshal, it's my fault. I came in asking for the game of checkers. He'd been working right along till then." Reaching to take the pot from the cook stove, J.T. continued, "I'll make you up some right now."

Matt threw his Stetson on the desk and ran his hand through his dark wavy hair. "No, sit down. I can get it." Turning his back to the men, he began to prepare the coffee to boil. "I guess I came in here with a burr in my saddle right off."

Festus and J.T. both looked at each other, wondering what might have the lawman upset.

"What's got your gullet, Matthew?" Festus asked.

Sitting in the large chair behind his desk, Matt propped his arms on the desktop and sighed. "Well, I have to leave for Salina to testify at that trial on Tuesday. Now I get this telegram from the Kansas City marshal saying that Harvey Wells and his brother Hoyt are on the loose, and possibly heading our way."

J.T. sprung to attention, noting the concern spelled out on his idol's face. "Who's Harvey and Hoyt Wells?" the boy asked, almost breathless.

"Shoot, you ain't never heard of them nar' do well brothers? They's just the lower than a rattlesnake's belly, them two. They come outta Texas way, and ain't been nuttin' but trouble all along the way." Festus nearly spat in disgust.

Eyes wide with excitement, the young man inquired, "What kind of trouble? Are they killers, or robbers or what?"

Matt leaned forward, fixing a steely blue gaze on the boy. "Now J.T., we are talking about real trouble here. This isn't like the dime novels people read. These men are bad, and they would just as soon shoot a man as look at him."

Somewhat chastised, J.T. fixed his own gaze on the checker board and murmured, "Yes sir, I understand. I guess I just got a bit carried away."

Turning to Festus, Matt continued. "We are in a bit of fix, Festus. I've got to go to that trial or Bilks will be set free. As near as I can figure it, the Wells brothers are probably three days out from Dodge. Problem is I'm going to be gone for at least four days."

"Not to worry Matthew, you know I'll keep my eye peeled like a hungry ole' hawk on the town whilst you're gone. We can depy-tize Sam, Burke and few others; we'll keep the lid on for sure."

J.T. stood in excitement. "Deputize me too! Why you know I can help Festus!"

"Now hold on a minute J.T. Didn't you just hear me tell you these aren't men to be messing around with?" Matt's grimace underlined his words.

"Wahl, now Matthew, young J.T's got hisself a good point here. I reckon I could use all the help I kin get whilst you is gone..."

"Festus…" Matt warned.

"Taint like I'd leave im by his own self never. But he could kinda look after the jail whilst I was doin' my rounds and the such. Seems like he done proved his self to ya," the whiskered man retorted, challenging Matt's concern.

"Yeah, marshal. I know how you feel about keeping me out of danger. I'd be real careful, and I'd do just like Festus told me to." J.T. pleaded his case.

Matt bit his bottom lip as he considered the arguments laid before him. Though it was against his better judgment, he acquiesced to the logic of Festus and the boy's request. "All right, but J.T., you watch yourself and you follow Festus' lead, hear me?"

A smile broke across the boy's face and his eyes shone with pride. "Yes sir, you have my word!"

Matt pushed himself to a standing position and grabbed the stack of wanted flyers from the corner of his desk. Leafing through them, he spoke. "Festus, go round up a few of the men we can trust, and bring them back here. We'll show them the flyer on the Wells' brothers so they know who they are looking for." Grabbing a handful of badges from the center drawer of his desk he continued. "Might as well get them sworn in before I leave."

"What do you need me to do, marshal?" J.T. asked, ready to follow.

"Keep that gun holstered unless you've got no other choice," Matt tersely replied.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for your reviews. There is one more part following this section**

 **Part Three**

The Mirror Cracks

"Now don't be surprised if I'm not around much over the next few days." J.T. looked into the fearful green eyes of Lila. "I've got me a job to do, and I intend to take it seriously."

Lila rested her small hand on his forearm, and dipped her head before speaking. "I'm proud of you J.T., but I'm a little scared too!"

"Now you've got nothing to worry about, if them Wells' boys show up, they ain't going to get anywhere near you," J.T. softly stated as placed his finger under Lila's chin and turned her face toward him.

"I'm not worryin' about me Jeremiah Branham." A slight pout formed on her pink lips. "I'm worried about you!"

"I've been taking care of myself for a while now Lila. I'll be alright. It's time I proved I'm a man whose worth his salt." J.T. pushed his shoulders back and stood tall.

"You already proved that to me. I know you rightly admire Marshal Dillon, but you got nothing to prove to him. These other men, well, I guessed it be safe to say that they've faced this kind of danger before." Haltingly she continued. "J.T., I love you, but you're just a farm boy, why do you think you gotta pin on a badge and face off with some outlaws?"

J.T.'s face hardened as he let his hand drop from Lila's arm. "I've been told all my life I ain't nothing, I ain't ever been given no kind of chance. Now you too, Lila? I'm just a farm boy; I ain't never gonna be a man like Matt Dillon?

Soothingly, Lila placed her hand on J.T.'s cheek. "That's just not true, don't you see? Why do you think we don't want you the middle of trouble? It isn't because we don't believe in you, it's because we care about you."

J.T. turned his face from her and with a choked voice uttered, "I gotta go now, Lila." He turned and hurried out the doors of the saloon. The conflicting thoughts swirled through his head much like the dirt devils swirled down Front Street. A man like Matt Dillon wasn't ever discarded or ignored. J.T. had hoped that in being around him, acting like him, would command him the same kind of respect. But hearing Lila call him "just a farm boy," a disturbing thought had surfaced from somewhere deep in his heart. He realized that what he really wanted, what he felt he needed, was to prove the marshal and everyone, including himself, wrong. J.T. Branham was something and J.T. Branham was a man who was not afraid to die to be something.

As had been forewarned the Wells' brothers rode into Dodge three days later. Hoyt Wells led the way on his brown gelding, sitting tall in the saddle, with a look of pure malice pasted on his rugged face. Harvey Wells followed, obviously a position he was accustomed to. His gaze only following the path of his elder brother, only looking at the things and people that seemed to draw his brother's attention. It was dusk when the pair made their way down Front Street, Hoyt's icy glare daring the townspeople to say anything to them, never needing a word to convey what their fate would be if they dared challenge the pair.

Burke was the first to recognize the brothers, and without delay made his way through the alley, arriving at the side of the Marshal's office. He burst through the door breathless, calling for Festus before the door had even cleared the frame.

"They're here, by God, they're here!" the freight man anxiously informed the deputy. "They come riding right down Front Street, just as bold as you please! I'm tellin' ya Festus, they're going to be trouble!"

"Burke, stop yer squawkin'! Whose here?" Festus asked as he rose from the desk chair, his spurs jangling as he made his way over to the harried man.

"Why the Wells brothers of course! Who'd ya think I was talking about?" Exasperation evident in Burke's voice.

Tugging at his whiskers, Festus thought for a moment and then replied, "Jest whar did you spy them at, Burke?"

"Coming down Front Street like I said. You gonna waste a bunch of time asking questions, or are you gonna do something about it?" Burke fidgeted from foot to foot, his apprehension apparent on his creased brow.

Squinting an eye at the flustered man, Festus retorted, "Course I'm gonna do something. That thar's my job, taint it? But what I'm fixin' to do right now is to have you go and fetch Sam and Bernie and have them get a wiggle on over chere."

"I'll get them over here alright, but I'm telling ya, we aren't a match for the likes of them two!" Burke turned sped toward the door and out of sight, on his way to summon the only help Dodge had.

Twenty minutes had passed when Burke, Sam Noonan and Bernie Fitch entered the office, closely followed by a flushed J.T. "Burke said you didn't send for me Festus, but you did, didn't you?" J.T. queried, his eyes darting about the office.

"Well, I just plumb forgot to mention yer name, J.T. Course I need ya, youse been depy-tized , aint ya!"

"I don't want special treatment Festus; I'm as much able to handle myself as any of these men!"

"Well now you little ornery..." Festus began to berate.

"Of course you are, J.T.," Sam smoothed, knowing the deputy was in no mood for confrontations. "What do you need us to do, Festus?" Sam turned the conversation back to the deputy.

"Wahl, like I sees it, these yahoos don't give a continental whether they's lives or theys dies. And they wouldn't break no sweat to take any of us out with them. Theys knows thars wanted papers on 'em, and they'll draw on any one that comes at em with their gun drawn." The group could see the deputy formulating his plan right before their eyes.

"So you planning a surprise attack, an ambush?" questioned Bernie.

"Naw, that wouldn't be right no how, we's got to stay in the law. I aim to let em know I knows who they is, and that I'm takin' em in. What happens next is bound to be their call." Festus knew his next statement would be met with opposition, at least from most of the men gathered. "They way I see it, you four is all the law that would be left in Dodge iffin' something was to happen to me, so I wants you to stay back, let me face them muggins."

Immediately Sam and J.T. began to voice their protest. "Festus, we knew what we were getting into..." Sam began, before he was cut off by a livid J.T. "There ain't no way in God's green earth we're gonna let you face them Wells brothers alone! You're gonna need steel behind you Festus, and you know it!"

"I don't know nutthin of the sort. Who's ta say them mudsills won't give right up or skedaddle out of town soonst as they is called out?" a less than convincing Festus challenged.

"You know it, and so do we. They'll put up a hell of a fight before they let you take them in," Bernie replied softly.

"Wahl, I'm in charge here, and that's just how it's gonna play, and I don't want none of you showin' up on the shoot! You place yerselfs far enough away to take them out iffin' they get me and start shootin' up the town, but else wise, you stay back." The finality was evident in the hard stare the deputy shone on each man individually.

With resignation, the men followed Festus to the dim, shadowy streets of Dodge.

The Wells brothers' location had been easy enough to find. Their horses had been tethered outside the Long Branch, and most of the other customers had suddenly realized they had more pressing matters to deal with, matters that would take them as far from the Long Branch and the dangers that had recently bellied up to her bar. With the exception of a man passed out at a table and another not far from oblivion leaning against the bar, the Wells brothers were the saloons lone customers. Kitty Russell held her usual place of court at the end of the L shaped oak bar, and Lila and two other girls sat at a table a safe distance from the outlaws. Since Sam had been called to duty as a deputy, Kitty had played bartender to the pair, a bottle of rye between them, each with a glass raised. Festus caught bits of conversation floating through the doors.

"Ta Dodge and all she'll give us!" chortled Hoyt.

"Yeah, all she'll give us," echoed his subdued brother.

"Speakin of all she'll give us, Red, come have a drink with us!" Hoyt motioned toward Kitty with his glass.

Kitty looked up from the ledger she had been perusing, fixed the men with a cold stare and replied, "I'd rather drink swill."

Hoyt began to inch down the bar toward the owner, leering at her as he did. "Now come on Red, we ain't gonna be here long, don't ya wanna get better acquainted?"

"Mister, I already know you. I see lots of men, just like you, slithering in on their bellies, letting their whiskey and their guns do the talking for them." Contempt radiated from her blue eyes.

Momentarily taken aback by the lack of fear the woman displayed, Hoyt stopped, looked around the near empty saloon and decided to play his hunch. "Well, if you're too good to drink with me and my brother, I bet one of 'em pretty fillies would be willing." Turning toward his brother, he commanded, "Harve, bring me one of them sweet young things over there." He inclined his head toward the table where the girls were sitting, but never allowed his malevolent gaze to wander from Kitty.

Just as he had surmised she would, Kitty's back straightened and she looked quickly from her girls to the man standing near her. "Leave them alone. You need company; I'll be your company."

As he began to worm his way toward her, Kitty's stomach began to lurch. Something in the man's gaze told her he would be trouble. For about the twentieth time that day, she wished Matt were home. Suddenly a movement at the batwing doors caught her attention.

"Now I reckon you best not move one more hair in that lady's direction, Wells." Festus stood just inside the doors, his single action revolver in his hand.

Both Harvey and Hoyt wells spun toward the twangy voice, hands immediately starting toward their gun belts. "I wouldn't do that iffin I twas you." Festus glared, one eye squinted. "I done got mine drawed and I'd take one of you out fer sure, and I'd give my all whilst I was going down to get the other."

Hesitantly, Harvey looked toward Hoyt, seeking direction. A brief shake of his head indicated that for now at least, the brothers would stand down. "Aw, come on now whiskers, we weren't doing her any harm. Just a couple of plumb tired souls looking for some warmth."

Warily, Festus began to make his way further into the saloon. Kitty had made her way closer to the table where the girls now stood in anticipation. **"** I knowed who you are, and I ain't inclined to believe you gots yerself a soul. Thars a paper over in the jailhouse sayin' who you are and what you been doin', and I'm the one whose gonna lock you in the hoosegow."

Adapting a posture of defiance, Hoyt sneered at Festus, snorting as he said, "Hunh is that a bluff or do you mean it for real play? Seems you are a might lacking in numbers deputy."

"Don't need me no numbers, got me a mighty good gun. Now real slow like, drop them gun belts, and I best not see you twitch none, or your gonna be lookin' down the barrel of this here gun."

Sam had been positioned with J.T. along the alley of the Long Branch, far back in the shadows. J.T.'s constant tapping of his foot gave the seasoned bartender insight to his state of mind. Attempting to sooth the young man's nerves, Sam leaned in and said, "No need to be nervous, J.T., Festus is as good as they come. He'll be fine."

"First off, I ain't nervous," bit back J.T., "and secondly, I got me a mind to go in there and see just what's going on. Shouldn't take him this long."

"We aren't going anywhere, remember what Festus told us. We wait." Sam put emphasis on the last two words, hoping to impart the seriousness of the command.

"Would the Marshal wait, Sam? Would he wait If he knew Festus was up against two outlaws on his own?" When Sam didn't respond, J.T. pushed on, "Well would he, hell would any man worth his salt wait?"

"You aren't the Marshal, J.T., and if we go busting' in there now, we could cause Festus more trouble."

J.T. spun toward the older man, stopping inches from his bulldog like face. "What'd you just say to me?"

Sam took a step backward, caught off guard at this sudden, unexpected outburst. Not one to intimidate easily, Sam spoke clearly, but slowly to the young man. "I said you aren't the Marshal, J.T., I said we'd wait. I won't let nothing or nobody put Festus or Miss Kitty in danger."

The swirling sensation returned with a vengeance, overcoming J.T.'s thoughts. He had heard what Sam said, but somehow it was now spinning around in his head, taunting him, sounding oddly like his father. He no longer heard the words of wisdom from the old bartender, but he heard his father's taunts, mixed with voices that sounded like Dillon's, Festus' and even Lila's. These inner voices taunted "you're not the man the Marshal is; you're nothing; you're nobody;" on and on until he was unable to take it anymore.

From what seemed like a great distance away, he could vaguely make out his name being called. "J.T., are you all right? J.T.!" But his decision had been made by the hurt and anger that the voices brought to the surface **.** With his hands over his ears, J.T. bolted through the shadows and onto the boardwalk, bursting through the batwing doors before anyone could stop him.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four: A Hero Falls**

The tension in the air inside the Long Branch was as thick as mist over the Arkansas. The three men all stood still, gauging the other's intentions with their eyes. The women in the room watched the confrontation, collectively holding their breath, waiting for one man-any man, to make the next move.

"What's it gonna be then?" Festus finally broke the silence. "You leaving here standin', or toes up?"

A look of surprise replaced the sneer on Hoyt Wells' pockmarked face when the doors to the saloon swung open as if propelled by the winds of hell. The brothers seized this opportunity to draw, as in chorus with Festus they turned their guns on the blur making its way through the doors, outlaw and deputy alike unsure of who was making an entrance.

Festus was the first to recognize J.T. and a glare of disappointment and fear crossed the haggard deputy's face. "J.T.! Stop right thar…" His warning was cut off by the sound of gun shots.

J.T.'s momentum had propelled him directly at Harvey Wells, who lost his balance, and in the confusion fired off a shot that went wild. Hoyt Wells, being the seasoned criminal that he was, took the opportunity to aim at the deputy, their main adversary at the time.

Instinct and gut reaction allowed Festus to move quickly, hunching down into a low stance. Though the action kept the projectile from finding its mark dead center of his chest, it allowed the bullet's trajectory to go straight for his head instead.

When the smoke cleared the damage became all too apparent. Festus lay unconscious on the barroom floor, a few feet away from him, J.T. was prone as well, and lying atop dazed Harvey Wells. Hoyt Wells' eyes darted about the saloon, fire emanating from his eyes. Kitty had herded the women into a tight circle behind a table, all the while trying not to scream out when she saw Festus lying still on the dirty barroom floor.

J.T. had his gun pressed against Harvey's sweaty forehead, his hand trembling so much it caused the gun to rub back and forth on the man's skin.

Hoyt assessed the situation, noting that during the scuffle, his brother's gun had been knocked loose and lay a few feet away from his outstretched hand. Turning his gun on J.T., he commanded in a tight voice "Get off of him, or I'm gonna put a bullet in yer head."

Still trembling, J.T. never took his eyes from Harvey's as he responded, "I'll kill him first, mark my words, I'll kill your brother!" J.T. began to slink off of the man's downed form, still holding his gun close to Harvey' head. "Now stand up you." Quickly darting his eyes, he addressed Hoyt. "And mister, you better drop your gun."

Hoyt Wells was not only an outlaw, but he regarded himself a good judge of horseflesh and men. He read this boy as being a blow hard, and decided to call his bluff. "Boy, you go right ahead and pull that trigger. I guarantee ya, your blood's gonna mix with his."

Swinging the gun back and forth between the brothers, J.T.'s hand trembled as much as his voice did. "I ain't jokin' mister; I'll kill one of ya. I ain't afraid to, I ain't afraid!" The sweat rolling off the young man's face and the shakiness of his hand belied his statement.

An air of cockiness engulfed Hoyt Wells as he sneered, dropping his gun to his side and seethed, "Then go ahead, greenhorn, I'm waitin!"

Hesitation was J.T.'s enemy at that moment, for the brief delay in taking action confirmed Wells' suspicion, this boy would not kill. With a wicked smile, Hoyt Wells sighed and then raised his gun level with J.T.'s chest, and blandly said, "You should a killed me." Without a moment's hesitation he pulled the trigger.

The sound of the shot competed with the scream coming from Lila's throat, "Noooo!" She tried to pull away, but Kitty held her tight, refusing to let the young girl run into the massacre.

J.T. felt the bullet sear through his upper chest, as he stumbled back toward the bat wing doors. He fell against the frame of the door, trying to raise his gun again, but another bullet from Hoyt Wells' pistol caught his arm and propelled the boy out on to the boardwalk, where he crumpled about twenty yards into the street.

Harvey Wells casually walked over to the swinging doors and peered out at the motionless form in the dirt. "Yup, he should a shot ya," he calmly stated. Turning back to his brother, he looked around and asked, "Now what?"

Matt Dillon spurred Buck hard, harder than he had a right to. The buckskin had already traveled arduously since morning, only being rested in quick intervals. Dillon had received a telegram, apparently dictated by Festus, that the Wells brothers had indeed come to Dodge. Matt had gone to the judge in Salina and asked if he could be excused as he had already testified. Though the judge had trepidations, Dillon's reputation of being an honest man led him to believe the matter was as urgent as Dillon had indicated. As soon as he had gotten his reprieve, Dillon headed for Dodge.

Now nearing midnight, the dim lights of Dodge could be seen on the horizon. Matt knew he'd find trouble, his instincts were buzzing with adrenaline, and they were rarely wrong. "Come on boy," he urged Buck, "just a little further."

The Long Branch was eerily quiet; the only sound was a soft sob emanating from Lila. Kitty held the girl to her breast, rubbing her upper arm comfortingly, while she kept her eye on Festus for any signs of life. Gently helping Lila to a chair, Kitty approached Hoyt Wells. "Let me take a look at Festus, he's going to need some help."

Hoyt looked at the distressed redhead, and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "Naw, lady, ain't any use in wastin' your time on a corpse, but you can look me over if you want."

His salacious leer turned Kitty's blood to ice. She fought her revulsion and tried to conjure up an imitation of a smile. "Please, he's a friend," was her simple plea.

Waving his gun toward the table, Hoyt commanded, "Get back on over there, boss lady. I said he was a goner; don't waste any tears on him."

Kitty wanted to run to Festus' side, damn the consequences, but she knew she would be of no help to him or the girls if she were dead. As she began to turn to retreat to the table, she noticed the slight rise and fall of the deputy's chest and said a silent "Thank you" to the heavens.

Harvey Wells was showing his fatigue in his eyes as he turned to his older brother and asked, "Well, what're we gonna do now? Thars got ta be more of 'em out there." He again peered over the wooden doors out into the night. No one was on the street except the immobile form of J.T. This did not discourage the feeling that Harvey had in his gut; he and his brother were sitting ducks cooped up in this saloon.

"Well, brother, we're gonna take leave of this hell hole." Hoyt pulled a bottle of whiskey from the bar and took a long swig. Wiping his mouth with his forearm, he continued. "Way I see it, we got us some protection here, no one's gonna shoot a woman, even if she is just a saloon gal. We'll both have one of them doves right up close to us and we will just mosey out of here, big as you please." Hoyt turned to the table where the three women huddled. Kitty met his lecherous look with a stone cold glare of her own. "Hmm, let me see now…" he teased, "which lucky lady is going be with me?" Stopping his perusal of the women, his eyes set on Kitty. "I'll take you, boss lady."

Kitty steeled herself and met his glare again. It took all of her will power to not avert her eyes. The depth of meanness she saw reflected back at her chilled her to her core. Even in fear, she knew what she had to do. "Fine, I'll go with you, but only me. My girls stay here; you're just as safe with one hostage as two."

The elder Wells brother threw his head back and let go of a barking laugh. "Well ain't you the brave one? I'll give ya credit, you got fire, but you ain't calling the shots here. Which filly do you want Harvey?"

Unable to shake his uneasiness, Harvey just waved his hand at his brother and murmured, "You pick Hoyt, makes no never mind to me."

Hoyt surveyed the remaining two women, and his perverse desire to cause pain sealed his decision. "I'm gonna give ya the blonde gal, the one that's moonin' over that dead boy!"

"No!" Kitty moved protectively in front of Lila, as if she could shield her from the evil.

"Damn boss lady, you gotta remember, you ain't the boss no more!" Turning to the young brunette who had yet to say a word, Hoyt continued his threats. "Now Miss Mouse, if you leave this here saloon more 'en 20 minutes after we leave, I'll come back here and cut your heart out, you hear me."

The frightened girl continued to stare down at the table and nodded her head.

"Good, that's a good little mouse." Hoyt turned to his brother and inclined his head toward the bar. "Grab us a few bottles of whiskey; we just might have time for a party once we're shed of this town." His meaning was not lost on the women, as he raked his eyes over Kitty's body.

A groan from Festus pulled his attention away from his fantasy. He walked over to the deputy and released his gun from its holster.

Kitty lunged forward and grabbed his arm. "No, let him be, can't you see he's dying' anyway?' she begged, her eyes wide with fear.

Harvey addressed his brother, "Yeah, leave him. He's knockin' on the pearly gates anyhow, Hoyt."

This rare command from his sibling caught Hoyt off guard. "Ya gettin' soft on me, little brother?" Hoyt reared his leg back and delivered a hard kick to the deputy's gut. "Consider yerself lucky, ugly."

Kitty covered her mouth with her hands to stifle the scream that threatened to escape. She began to kneel down by Festus when Hoyt roughly grabbed her arm and hoisted her upward. "Ain't got time for that, let's get going."

Harvey walked over to the shaken Lila and pointed his gun at her. "Come on little girl, guess you're comin' with us."

Lila rose slowly, her body trembling as she allowed herself to be lead toward the door. Hoyt pulled Kitty tight against his body, holding his own gun to her side as the four began to exit the saloon.

The darkness was magnified, only a handful of the lamps had been lit lining Front Street. This was the first thing that struck Kitty as odd; the second thing was she noticed that the still form on the street did not look quite right.

Hoyt caught her gaze and followed it to the prone figure lying in the street. He saw the form with the tan pants and leather vest, the Stetson tilted at an odd angle and assumed the woman was mourning the loss of another useless hero. "Come on, woman, quit gawking,' he urged as he pushed her along.

"Wait," Kitty said almost breathlessly. "You forgot your whiskey. And money, you'll need money too, won't you? Let me go back and get it."

Hoyt glared at her for a moment, and then gave his ultimatum: "You holler in at that mousy gal and tell her to bring the whiskey and the money to the doors here." Looking at her hard he said, "You try anything, and I'm shooting' the girl, understand?"

Kitty only nodded her head, and then turned to Lila. With an imperceptible movement of her eyes, she signaled Lila to look at the body lying in the street. The distraught woman followed her glance and Kitty knew the moment realization dawned in the girl's green eyes. Kitty hoped Lila could read her expression, as she knew this was their only attempt at survival.

Hoyt allowed her to move away from his vice like grip, as she took two steps back toward the batwing doors. She cleared her throat, said a brief, silent prayer, and then called, "Now!"

Lila yanked herself away from Harvey, and the women hit the ground, just as the stationary form in the street rolled over, gun out of the holster and blazing before the movement was complete.

Before the Wells' brothers could react, the sharp shooting of Matt Dillon had ended both of their lives. Lila screamed as blood spattered across the huddled bodies of the women, and the loud thud of the bodies hitting the boardwalk echoed in their ears.

Matt quickly stood, limping slightly as he ran toward the fallen outlaws and frightened women. Holding his guns steadily over the brothers, Matt noted the blank stare of death on their grizzled faces. He gently grabbed Kitty's arms though she still covered the screaming girl. The women raised themselves up in tandem, Lila burying her face in Kitty's shoulder.

Matt's eyes desperately sought Kitty's and when they met, she could read the worry and concern embedded in them. "I'm all right Matt. Let's get Lila inside. Festus is hurt badly, he's gonna need Doc."

"J.T.? Marshal, where is J.T.? Is he dead?" sobbed the shaken girl.

As Matt lead Kitty and Lila back into the Long Branch, Sam, Burke and Bernie Fitch emerged from their posts around the saloon. The three, as well as Doc, all began to converge on the saloon.

"J.T.," moaned Lila again.

"J.T. is up at Doc's, Lila. He's in bad shape, but Doc thinks he's going to make it," Matt spoke soothingly.

Kitty relinquished Lila to the young saloon girl who had been waiting inside. Both she and Matt quickly knelt by Festus' side, and were joined by Doc. "Got himself creased but good," Doc spoke mostly to himself, "probably going to be out for a few hours."

"But he's going to be okay?" Kitty quietly inquired as she laid her hand upon the deputy's forehead.

"I'm guessin' so, Kitty. But we have to get him up to my office. I need to keep a close eye on Jeremiah as well."

Matt rose to his full height, and directed Burke and Sam to help Doc with Festus. As the men carried the still unconscious deputy from the bar, Lila and her friend followed them out. Matt turned to Kitty and pulled her off to the side. "Kitty, are you sure you are all right? Did they hurt you?"

Brushing a lose strand of hair out of her eyes, she reassured her lover that she was indeed fine. "I don't mind telling you though, it was a little scary."

"I'm guessing' it was," he replied as he pulled her close to his chest. "Tell me, how'd you know it was me lying out there?"

Tilting her head up to meet his gaze, she smiled softly and purred, "Matt Dillon, after all these years I'd know that body anywhere! Besides, wasn't that what you expected?"

Matt allowed a small grin to part his lips. "Well Kitty, now that you mention it, no, I didn't count on you figuring' out it was me. I planned to try and overtake them when they were mounting up. I could see just a little from under my hat, but when I heard you yell " _now_ " I knew I had to do something!" He bent and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. "I'm just mighty glad I got here when I did. I don't want to think..."

Kitty didn't want to think of it either, so she decided to distract her marshal in the best way she knew how; she pulled his face down to meet hers and she whispered against his lips, "But you got here, Cowboy, and I'm grateful." She placed a warm and inviting kiss on his lips that lasted several moments. Pulling away, she placed her head on his chest and asked, "Will J.T. really be all right Matt?"

"I didn't have much time to talk to Doc, but he said he thought so. J.T. was mumbling something when we pulled him off the street, so I guess that's a good sign."

"Guess so, I'm going to go up and check on them. Come by later, cowboy?"

She looked so longingly in his eyes that he was tempted to sweep her off her feet and take her to her room that very moment, holding her and protecting her from all the terrible things in this world. But duty called, and he knew he had to attend to the bodies and find out from the deputized men what exactly had happened. He pulled her to him once again, and kissed her softly. "Nothing could keep me away," he whispered huskily.

A still stiff J.T. Branham awkwardly made his way down the long flight of stairs from Doc's office, Lila trailing right behind. "Honey, you go on and say your goodbyes to Kitty and the girls, I'm going to stop by the Marshal's office."

Tenderly she placed her hand on his forearm. "Are you sure you can make it on your own?"

With a grin to belie his stern tone, he pointed a finger at the lovely young woman and said, "now just because you are going to be my wife soon, doesn't mean you can get all bossy on me!'

The mere mention of their upcoming nuptials caused a huge grin to cross her worry marred face. "Oh you," she spouted as she turned saucily away from him and headed toward the Long Branch.

J.T. took in a deep fortifying breath and slowly began his trek to the Marshal's office. He and Dillon had spoken several times in the last two weeks, and he had apologized profusely for his actions. Matt had graciously assured him that he understood his need to do something, anything, under the circumstances that night, but it did little to assuage the young man's guilt. Festus had been hurt, and he had potentially endangered Miss Kitty, Lila and Gretchen. Matt waved off the boy's concern, reminding him that all had turned out fairly well. Even though Matt had pardoned his transgressions, J.T. still felt compelled to come clean of the last demon haunting him before he thought he could find true piece of mind. With this burden weighing heavy on his shoulders, he pushed the office door open.

"Wahl there you are, J.T.," Festus greeted, lowering his feet from the small center table in the middle of the room. "I was jest wondering if you'd come say yer farewells afore leavin'."

"Yeah, we're heading out shortly, Festus. I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am…"

"Pshaw," spat the deputy, "you ain't got nothin' to be sorry for! I was jest tellin' ole' Matthew here that it was probably a right good thing you come bustin' in like you done. Why, I'd a had ta take them yahoos out myself, and my arms been a might sore here of late, and well, you jest never know what might of happened if I'd missed…"

The young man walked over to the kind deputy, recognizing his bold face lie as an attempt to help the boy save face. "You're a good friend, Festus." The men shook hands briefly, then J.T. ducked his head slightly, and requested, "Umm, I'd kind of like to speak with the Marshal alone if that's ok?"

"Well, sure it's fine! I'm fixin' to see if that old quackety-quack is gonna buy me that drink he owes me!" Heading for the door, Festus turned and winked at J.T. "It's good ta see ya in yer old clothes! I spect Miss Lila feels the same way."

As the door closed, J.T. turned toward Matt. "Uhh, Marshal Dillon, I just wanted to say again how sorry I am I caused so much trouble."

Leaning forward, Matt placed his arms on the desk. "No trouble J.T., just glad to see you're going to be all right."

J.T. fidgeted with the edge of the desk as he struggled to continue. "I should a killed him when I had the chance. I'm figuring I'm exactly what my father said, 'nothing but a waste', I know for certain I'm a coward."

Matt rose from his chair and circled around the desk, placing a large hand on the young boy's shoulder. "Son, your father didn't do right by you in a lot of ways, but regardless of that, you've become a fine young man. "

"How can you say that after all I've done? I embarrassed you, you wanted to trust me and I messed that up, and I nearly got everyone killed over at the Long Branch." The chagrined man hung his head in shame.

Dillon crossed his arms across his chest as he addressed the distressed man. "J.T., we all make mistakes, it doesn't make us a failure at life. The only failure is if we don't learn from them. You are starting over with Lila, and I'm willing to bet it will be a good life. "Dillon shifted his stance, waiting until J.T. looked up at him. "Not killing a man doesn't make you a coward son; in fact, sometimes it takes more bravery not to shoot."

Fearfully, J.T. looked up at the strong face staring back at him. He did not see disgust or shame reflected as he had expected, instead he saw kindness and trust. Suddenly J.T. understood; a man is only nothing if he lets himself believe he is nothing. Matt Dillon believed in him, and for the first time, Jeremiah Tyrone Branham believed in himself.

 **The End**


End file.
